


glad you're gone (glad he's here)

by vaindumbass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (the self-harm isn't exactly intentional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, pls be safe tho!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaindumbass/pseuds/vaindumbass
Summary: Oh fuck. He should— he should get up, he was an easier target like that, as long as he sat upright she might ignore him. His legs were wobbly, but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that no one saw that his legs were wobbly.He got on the couch. That’s how Remus found him, sitting unnaturally straight, blood seeping over his palms, a letter crumpled on the floor.“Oh, no no nonono.” It is said softly, and Sirius doubts whether Remus even knows he said that. It fits, though, with the sight of the raging dumpster fire called Sirius Black.-or: Sirius recieves the news of his mother's death. He doesn't take it too well, but luckily Remus is there.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	glad you're gone (glad he's here)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks livelovelupin for beta'ing this for me! Hope you enjoy! Feel free to visit my [tumblr](https://vaindumbass.tumblr.com/)

Sirius’ hands were shaking. _Fuck_. He could hide this, he could, he had done it before. He balled his hands into fists, so tight that his nails dug into his skin. _Good_. Another kind of pain to focus on.

His breathing. Fuck, he’s got to focus on his breathing, it was getting out of hand. Deep breaths. In and out. Ignore the fluttering.

He didn’t succeed completely, but his mother had never noticed it before, so why would she now? _His mother was dead._

He should be happy. He should finally be allowed to be so _fucking_ happy. Instead he’s balled up on the floor of their living room, with crescents in his skin, trying to control his breathing.

Oh fuck. He should— he should get up, he was an easier target like that, as long as he sat upright she might ignore him. His legs were wobbly, but that didn’t matter, what mattered was that no one _saw_ that his legs were wobbly.

He got on the couch. That’s how Remus found him, sitting unnaturally straight, blood seeping over his palms, a letter crumpled on the floor.

“Oh, no no nono _no_.” It is said softly, and Sirius doubts whether Remus even knows he said that. It fits, though, with the sight of the raging dumpster fire called Sirius Black.

Remus is going to turn around any minute now, but maybe, _maybe_ , if Sirius stays still well enough, he’ll stay just a few seconds longer. 

Remus sets a step closer. Sirius doesn’t flinch, has unlearned that habit when he was seven, but he can’t help but tense up. 

Remus kneels in front of him, slowly, carefully. It’s weird. His mother had only done that once, when she— Remus’ hands hover above Sirius’ knees.

“I’m here.” Remus says, and it’s indeed Remus, not his mother, looking at him with concern in his eyes. “Can I touch you?”

Sirius nods once, jerkily, because what if this is all a trick? Remus’ hands settle on his knees, his thumbs drawing agitating circles. Sirius hits him with a balled fist, fast, and without any real power behind it. 

Remus immediately stops moving his thumbs, but the short relief isn’t worth it at all, because Sirius can’t just _hit_ people, he has to stay still and take it. He has to focus on his breathing again.

“Hey,” Remus says, “Could you relax your hands for me?”

Sirius doesn’t know if he can. He tries, though, for Remus. Remus, who is there.

There’s a sharp intake of breath when Remus sees his hands uncurl. Sirius, for just a moment, can’t shake the idea that he’s done something wrong but then Remus’ hands are around the back of his.

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus says, his voice full of something Sirius can’t recognize. “These are— Would you be fine if I left for a moment? I’d go get our first-aid kit.”

Sirius nods, then looks at his hands. There’s indeed a bit of blood, but he’s had worse, and he’s never had a first-aid kit before. 

Remus looks slightly out of breath when he re-enters, as if he’d ran to get there, first-aid kit in hand. A bit of the pain in his hands starts to reach Sirius, and he slowly starts to feel like himself again, only shakier.

As if he can see that, Remus says: “Hey, love.” while sitting on the floor before Sirius again. He takes Sirius’ left hand unhurriedly, and quietly applies some antibiotic to all of his wounds. He does this with the right hand too. 

It isn’t until he starts putting on brightly coloured band-aids that he speaks again. “Could you tell me what brought this on? It’s fine if you don’t.” This time Sirius can finally place his tone of voice. There’s concern, sure, and softness, but it all stems from love.

Sirius, who still doesn’t feel like talking, points at the paper ball on the floor. With the slight crinkling of paper, Remus smooths it out and starts reading. Sirius looks at him while he reads, because it seems a waste to have a perfectly good Remus Lupin in your vicinity and then _not_ look at him.

Remus’ expression changes a bit while he’s reading, from interest to disgust to a small spark of joy. “Aha.” is all he says.

Sirius reaches out, grabs Remus shirt, the band-aids crinkling as he does so, and brings him closer, burying his head in Remus’ shirt. “Throw that away.” he grumbles, and Remus smiles a bit and complies.

Sirius tugs him even closer, and with a startled laugh Remus practically falls into his lap. Sirius buries his head in Remus’ shirt again, only this time in the place where his head meets his neck.

“Wanna hear about my day?” Remus asks, one of his hands scratching Sirius’ scalp. Sirius nods.

“Fred and George put a whoopee cushion on my seat.”

Sirius huffs good-naturedly. “How unoriginal.”

Remus pulls back a little so that Sirius can see his raised eyebrow. “You tried that on me _yesterday_.”

“Well, it’s a classic!”

Remus' eyebrow still hasn’t gone back to its natural position, but he does look even more amused (Sirius likes that look on his face, but to be fair, Sirius likes his face in general.) “So when the terror twins do it it’s unoriginal, but when you do it, it’s a classic?”

“I said what I said.”

Remus kisses his forehead. “Unfortunately.”

And while Sirius still isn’t sure whether he’s okay or not, he knows this. He knows how to talk with Remus, so while his sentences are still short, and while his voice still sounds foreign into his ears, he can be at home in the familiar pattern. “How did you deal with them, anyway? Did you take revenge?”

“That would be _very_ unprofessional. Besides, I know how to recognize a whoopee cushion by now, so their plan didn’t even work.”

Sirius grins. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Remus opens his mouth, closes it, turns a little red. “I mean— Look— You and James put a whoopee cushion in my bag!”

Sirius laughs at him. Remus, with new-found dignity, says: “I merely returned their cushion, and even gave them a gift!”

“Oh, how _kind_ of you. How did they react?”

“Well, obviously they know how to recognize a whoopee cushion too.”

Sirius pouts over-exaggeratedly, realizing too late that Remus can’t even see it. “That’s no fun.”

“Right, because publicly humiliating them would be fun.” 

“I mean, _they_ started it.”

Remus chuckles, but after that they stay silent for a while. Sirius doesn’t mind, just enjoys the feeling of being safe, but then Remus speaks up.”

“So...” he starts, stealing a glance at the letter that’s still on the floor. “Want to celebrate her death with James tomorrow?”

And Sirius laughs a little, and then he cries a little, because he _does_ want that. He really, really does.


End file.
